C is for Trouble
by nieseryjna
Summary: Sara and Neal's hypothetical baton-wielding con children.


Title: C is for Trouble

Rating: G

Pairings: Sara/Neal

Warnings: Future post-anklet

Word count: ~1100

Spoilers: mild for second part of Season 4 (only for Sara)

A/N: Written for The Neal/Sara Thing-a-Thon; the prompt from sahiya was: "I would like to know more about Sara and Neal's hypothetical baton-wielding con children (AU's are fine). "

Summary: Sara and Neal's hypothetical baton-wielding con children.

Beta by amazing mam711

* * *

"... recovery."

A soft knock on the glass door of the conference room gathered the attention of almost everyone in the room.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Ellis, there is a phone call for you..." Sara was the only one that had not raised her head on the first knock; she was updating her notes from the meeting.

For five years she'd been the head of London branch of Sterling Bosch; for the past six she'd been a managing partner of the company, still based in London; she didn't need to raise her head at every knock, unless she was called.

"It's St. Bernadette; there was an ... incident." Her personal assistant had a perfect English accent, and it was something Sara was quite used to, but the way she said incident, it sounded like _accident_.

As calmly as she could, Sara started gathering her papers, nodding slightly to the assistant that she understood the message.

"That will be all for today. I would like to see a report about that recovery tomorrow." She dismissed the agent.

When she arrived, the corridors were empty; her stilettos made a click-clack sound on the marble floor, sending shivers up her spine. It was a little bit creepy to walk the school corridors during a study hour. It was too silent for a school. When she finally arrived at the headmaster's office, she stood at the entrance, taking inventory. On her right, on a long bench, sat a bulky kid, holding his right hand with his left close to himself and sobbing, but still trying to send murderous glances opposite him. Exactly across were doors to the headmaster's office, from where she could hear angry voices on the edge of shouting; as she didn't recognize any of them she continued to look around. On her left on another long bench sat a small kid with strawberry blond hair, his head slightly titled to better eavesdrop on the conversation, but his eyes were closed, tear tracks still visible on his pale face. He was holding an icepack to his right cheek.

"Conrad!" Sara wasn't sure if it was good that her voice didn't waiver with worry; she was angry, more at the boy on the other bench than her son, but her boy flinched when she called his name. His suddenly-opened eyes filled with tears.

"Mom!" Before he could move, she was by his side, hugging him close, taking quick inventory. He was mostly unharmed—all bones seemed intact—the only injury she could spot was the blossoming red cheek.

"Did he do that to you?" she asked her son, looking in the direction of the bigger boy. Close up he must have been at least two years older and 10 pounds heavier. Conrad nodded, his head moving on her chest where she still kept him close.

"Did you do that to him?" He must have know exactly what happened, but instead of a confirmation his head moved very slowly indicating no.

"No? Then—" It wasn't really so difficult to guess, but the voice coming from beyond the corridor was the only explanation she needed.

"Constance Caffrey, just wait till your parents get here. This isn't over, young lady!" The nun was actually dragging Connie by her hand to the office.

Something flared in Sara; screw the always-composed persona—those were her children and no one, not even nuns, messed with her kids.

"Excuse me! What do you think you're doing?!" She stood up to her full height, her hands on her hips, her voice icy cold but steady. The kids would tell her later that she looked like Wonder Woman.

"_That's_ your mom?" A whisper full of wonder flew behind her back.

"Yeah!" was the full-of-pride and enthusiastic confirmation from her son.

"Mom!" Connie snatched her hand away from the nun and ran to hide behind Sara.

"Miss Ellis—"

"It's Mrs. Caffrey."

"My apologies, Constance needed to go to the bathroom; I was just escorting her back."

"And you did that by dragging her by her hand?!" Her eyebrow rose with the question.

"I—"

Then both doors on the opposite ends of the corridor opened; her husband stepped in from one side, and the headmaster with another set of parents from another.

"Am I late?" Neal flashed his best smile, his eyes only on his wife.

"Not at all, Mr. Caffrey; you are right on time. Please come in, all of you." The headmaster's voice flew over her shoulder.

They let the kids run ahead of them to the car.

"I can't believe Conrad was using 'Find the Lady' to con other kids." Sara wasn't smiling but her voice had that little edge when she was disappointed; Neal and the kids knew it very well.

"I didn't teach him..." Neal tried, smiling his best smile. Not really to con her, but to soften her a little. She couldn't really resist his charms.

"Caffrey. Really?" The raised eyebrow showed he wasn't really successful. But the edge disappeared, replaced by the exasperated tone that she must have learned at some point in the past from Peter.

"Showing him how it works doesn't really mean teaching him to con."

He smirked; like father, like son. But like mother, like daughter. "I, Repo, can't believe that Connie had a baton and used it on that kid's hand."

"Me neither. I'm gonna kill Mozzie."

"Why do you think it was Moz's fault?" He couldn't help but stand in defense of his old friend.

"Who else would give Connie a baton? I didn't do that, and neither did you; that leaves Moz or Peter or Elizabeth. And we both know it wasn't Peter or El."

"I can't argue with that logic. Don't worry, dear, I will help you hide the body, remove all possible evidence and lie at your trial. And if need be visit you in prison every week. For the rest of my life."

She hit him in the arm. "What are we going to do about the kids?"

"I'll raise them alone and bring them for visits, of course." This time he danced around her to avoid her elbow.

He continued easily. "Grounded for a month, no galleries, no movies, no TV or games for at least a week..."

"... and a lecture from Uncle Peter." They laughed in unison.

The End


End file.
